


Prince of Wands

by softestpunk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, I mean that's a very mild way of putting it, M/M, Nilfgaard, accidental feelings, also fair warning: Morvran and Emhyr are related and they do bring that up, also there's a horse, but you take care of you, i wouldn't call it incest, that's actually what's going on in this fic: Nilfgaard, their relationship is largely adversarial until it's not, you have to squint but they're there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:33:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/pseuds/softestpunk
Summary: Morvran, naturally, had his own reasons for wanting to be invited into Emhyr’s bed. He was ambitious, and clever, and cunning. While he undoubtedly held out hope that the missing princess would materialise one day, he was not about to pin all his future plans on a woman he’d never seen who might well ultimately refuse him.Emhyr and Morvran both want something from each other, and they're both willing to go to great lengths to get it. So great, indeed, that they may well stumble onto more than they bargained for.





	Prince of Wands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quills_at_dawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quills_at_dawn/gifts).



> I guess I could write fic I've been working on for months that people actually want, OR I could let quills_at_dawn encourage me to write... this. 
> 
> In which Emhyr is Emhyr, Morvran is Morvran, and Nilfgaard is Nilfgaard. It's a wee touch dark but kind of nice, all the same, I think?
> 
> I had a good time and that's what matters.

Morvran Voorhis lounged elegantly on a chaise in Emhyr’s private quarters, the remainder of a glass of wine held between his fingers, manners and poise the perfect image of a young Nilfgaardian nobleman. His eyes were circled with a thick but even line of khol, delicately smudged to give the illusion of much greater depth, drawing all attention to what was, without question, his best feature.

He was dressed beautifully in black and gold, a subtle nod to the company he was keeping, but more simply than was his usual style.

This, Emhyr knew, was a seduction.

One he was increasingly inclined to give into.

Morvran, naturally, had his own reasons for wanting to be invited into Emhyr’s bed. He was ambitious, and clever, and cunning. While he undoubtedly held out hope that the missing princess would materialise one day, he was not about to pin all his future plans on a woman he’d never seen who might well ultimately refuse him.

Better, then, to settle himself at Emhyr’s side and ensure his place in the line of succession that way, as favourite to the emperor and obvious choice for an heir. Even if Emhyr’s absent daughter _did_ reappear, then, he would have a grip on his heart.

All of this was easy to surmise.

Harder to determine was whether or not he realised Emhyr had his _own_ reasons for wanting to keep Morvran close to him.

Firstly, there was the matter of his father--a disloyal, dangerous man who Emhyr could not dispose of subtly. If Morvran was more concerned with his loyalty to Emhyr than to his own father, though, some of that threat would be neutralised. The open secret of Morvran’s incredibly close relationship with Emhyr might even be enough to placate the man and his allies, if they were certain Morvran would be emperor once Emhyr was either exhausted or dead.

They thought they could use him as a puppet, Emhyr knew. How incredibly wrong they were. Morvran was possessed of a mind much, much sharper than anyone gave him credit for.

He had allowed Emhyr to win two separate games of chess tonight. Presumably in an attempt to put him in a good mood.

So, in the first place, Morvran would make a useful ally, and give Emhyr an opportunity to thwart the plans of people who had marked themselves as his foes--and who he personally did not like, in any case.

Secondly, there was the absolute disaster of the second war to mitigate. Emhyr was not unaware that his position was currently tenuous, and that the current flavour of treasonous whispers was that he was not, after all, a true Nilfgaardian. That he had spent too long in the North and was not willing to act as decisively as he should.

A semi-public affair with someone who was widely considered to be the perfect example of a young Nilfgaardian man would round off the edges of those rumours. If the public believed Emhyr was attached to Morvran, then it would be difficult for his detractors to continue to argue that he was unconcerned with the interests of Nilfgaard or found Nilfgaardians themselves distasteful.

Which brought Emhyr to the final reason, though the least important of the three: Morvran was by no means repulsive to him. Indeed, Emhyr enjoyed both the sharpness of his mind _and_ his capacity for joy, something he had long left behind but could still appreciate in others.

He was not _entirely_ immune to being seduced, and he suspected that the idea to do so had entered Morvran’s mind some time ago.

This evening was simply his most blatant attempt yet.

And on top of all of this, if Emhyr had never sensed even the faintest trace of genuine desire from him, then he would not have even considered going through with his. While it was impossible to tell the difference in this particular young man between the desire for power and sexual desire--and Emhyr was not certain these were actually different things to Morvran--it _did_ suggest that they would at least each be going into this willingly.

All that was left, then, was to give in.

“Morvran,” Emhyr began, and could not stop the thrill of gratification at all of Morvran’s attention suddenly being focused on him. “Do you wish to go through with this, or do you simply wish to spread a rumour that you have?” he asked. “I am happy to accommodate you either way.”

Emhyr watched as Morvran drained the last of his wine, leaned forward, and set the glass down, his gaze never faltering for a moment.

“If I am to be unavailable to all other company,” Morvran began, showing that he understood _exactly_ what this undertaking would require. “Then I would prefer the act to the rumour.”

“Very well,” Emhyr stood, adding this latest piece of information to his mental picture of perhaps the most dangerous man in Nilfgaard, young as he was. “Then you may join me in my bedchamber when you find yourself ready.”

He brushed past, patting Morvran’s shoulder on the way, hoping this gesture would be taken as an indication that Emhyr would not hurt him. Transactional as this may have been, he had no desire to make it unpleasant.

***

Morvran came to him after but a few minutes, not even long enough to give Emhyr the chance to finish undressing.

Emhyr tasted wine on his lips, and felt the heat of his body, and allowed himself to be moved to the bed, giving Morvran every chance to back out of this if he could not go through with it. The last thing he could afford was a whisper that he had forced this; he would be bleeding out in the hall come morning if such a thing occurred.

They did not exchange words of affection, or indeed any words at all.

And yet the act was not cold. Morvran kissed eagerly, touched with reverence and warmth and no fear.

Emhyr touched with equal warmth, allowing his hands to roam over delicate skin, seek out sensitive places, elicit hisses and moans and even _enjoy_ them. It was heartening to be wanted, even if for entirely practical reasons.

For reasons Emhyr had no wish to examine, Morvran’s pleasure was more exciting than his own. To know that the right touch in the right way could take this brilliant young man apart, that _he_ could tear down someone as glimmeringly bright as Morvran Voorhis. That he could navigate a man with just as many sharp edges as he had without cutting himself.

Morvran gasped against his shoulder as he finished, and Emhyr stored the sound away in his mind for no reason he was willing to admit to.

***

Gossip, Emhyr knew, was the fastest creature known to man. By noon the entire palace was aware that Morvran had slept in his bed, and by sunset, the whispers were spreading like wildfire.

Within a week, it would be common knowledge across the empire that Emhyr had taken Morvran as a lover.

Within two, the first art and literature concerning them would begin to emerge.

He settled behind his desk to write a short, warm message inviting Morvran to eat with him in casual, open tones. Not quite laced with affection--anyone reading the note would see through that immediately--but kind enough to make it clear that Emhyr was fond of the intended recipient.

Morvran responded with all due speed and precisely equal warmth, indicating that he would be delighted.

He arrived on time, well dressed, freshly-shaved, bathed, lightly perfumed and with his eyes once again ringed with black. Not, Emhyr knew, for his benefit, but to _appear_ as though it was being done for his benefit.

“You may wish to know that I prefer a warmer scent in the winter,” Emhyr said as he poured two glasses of wine.

“You are not telling me this because you care,” Morvran responded astutely. There was no point in trying to fool him, so Emhyr had no intention of trying.

“I am telling you this because I care very much. Not about the way you smell, but about how well you sell the fiction that you are at all interested in pleasing me.”

Morvran looked at him, clever eyes searching his face for any sign of deceit. “Why?” he asked after a moment.

“I have as much use for this affair as you do,” Emhyr said. “Perhaps more. Surely you have guessed my reasons?”

A moment of silence told Emhyr that Morvran was considering his response very carefully. Too carefully. If this was to be of benefit to either of them, _real_ trust would have to spring up.

“You are a stunning example of Nilfgaardian nobility and your presence at my side implies your approval of my actions, you would not grace my bed as frequently as you are about to if you did not think I was an entirely worthy leader for the empire. And I would take your loyalty from your father and reward you far more generously than he could ever hope to for it.”

Morvran raised an eyebrow. “You are comfortable telling me this?”

“Of course,” Emhyr said, picking a dried apricot from the spread in front of him. He watched Morvran catalogue the gesture and wondered how quickly he would be able to determine Emhyr’s preferences for himself, how long it would be before he no longer needed to be coached. “There is very little point in hiding my motives from you, you would guess them sooner or later and likely feel betrayed. I am not flattering you when I say you have a brilliant strategic mind and an excellent grasp of social politics. I consider you, sincerely, the most valuable of allies.”

“Additionally,” Emhyr continued while Morvran absorbed this new information. “You would not be here if you did not think I could give you more than your father can. I believe we are of the same mind, in this regard, though I understand your hesitance to speak aloud of your intention to betray your family. I would remind you that I am _also_ family.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Morvran said.

“Emhyr,” he corrected automatically. “You must become accustomed to calling me Emhyr in increasingly public situations. All but the most formal. It will be the surest sign of our intimacy.”

“Emhyr,” Morvran corrected, the word fitting oddly in his mouth. He would become used to it.

Emhyr offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile.

“As you have confided in me,” Morvran continued. “Then I must also confide in you. You have already guessed that I have ulterior motives, but I would like to make it clear that this path would never have occurred to me if I didn’t genuinely desire you.”

Emhyr paused a moment to think before speaking. On the one hand, Emhyr’s own self-loathing made that difficult to believe. On the other hand, he was intellectually aware that tastes varied.

Thirdly, Morvran had good reason to lie about this, to allow Emhyr to believe he was seeing real affection, real desire, because those were the things that just might sway him. Despite appearances, he was only human.

Which meant that Emhyr could not reliably determine whether he was hearing a lie or the truth, and he would simply have to accept it neutrally and file it away as something Morvran had said.

“I’m glad this will not be unpleasant for you,” Emhyr said. In the interest of not seeming too cold in front of his new lover, he continued, “I don’t believe I need to list your own virtues, but I would assure you that this is not difficult for me, either.”

And it wasn’t. The sex, at least, had so far been uncomplicated and satisfying, and Emhyr was happy for it to continue that way.

So perhaps that was exactly the same lie as Morvran was telling, a truth that was not the entire picture but nevertheless held well enough to function as a bridge they perhaps _both_ needed so as not to become disgusted with themselves and each other in short order.

***

They had uncomplicated, satisfying sex again after they’d eaten and discussed their own tastes in art openly and freely, and to an outside observer they may well have seemed like perfectly ordinary lovers.

Morvran was very slightly more amorous, and Emhyr in turn was very slightly more desperate, and it went unspoken between them that they would never discuss this, or who or what they were thinking of when they touched one another, that _this_ would remain something they enjoyed together.

While his skin was cooling and he was panting for air, Emhyr glanced over at an equally spent Morvran, skin glistening in the low light, and wondered if he might wake one day to this man standing over him, holding a knife.

***

Morvran smelled of vanilla and oakmoss the next time Emhyr saw him.

***

By the time Emhyr was sinking into Morvran’s warmth he could no longer remember why he had initially denied himself the pleasure of his body, the slick heat of him, willing and eager. Morvran had folded a vial of lightly-scented oil into his hand and rolled over, and Emhyr knew it was a ploy, a move intended to bring them closer together, and yet he could not deny that he desired this, that in the very depths of his soul this had all started with an urge to _own_ Morvran Voorhis, mind and body.

Morvran moaned and writhed as though he had never known greater pleasure, and perhaps he hadn’t--Emhyr, too, enjoyed having a plan come together to an almost obscene degree. They were similar creatures, and perhaps that was why this was so easy, why Emhyr found himself being tender and gentle, pressing his lips to Morvran’s shoulder as he moved inside him, whispering small, meaningless praises against his skin as they rocked together, slow at first and then faster, harder, snarling and growling, their sharp edges both showing at the same time.

In the morning, Morvran sat in Emhyr’s lap and had him again before breakfast, and it was impossible to tell any longer whether Emhyr was being permitted to use Morvran’s body, or Morvran was being permitted to use his.

And perhaps _use_ was too cold a way to think about this, and perhaps it didn’t matter.

***

“She’s beautiful,” Morvran murmured, reverence in his voice and genuine pleasure lighting up his eyes as he took in the stunning silver-maned, blue dun mare Emhyr had brought him to see.

“She is,” Emhyr agreed. “A rare and beautiful creature, deceptively delicate but actually from our friends in Mahakam. She has come a long way to be here,” he continued, “and she is for you.”

Morvran stared for long moments. “I…” he began, and Emhyr had never seen him stunned into silence before.

The warm curl of pleasure in the pit of his stomach gave him _some_ pause, but he decided it was brought on by having correctly read Morvran’s weakness.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to allow the mare to nuzzle his hand, childlike joy making his eyes sparkle as a smile spread across his face. “But you needn’t have given me anything.”

“You know as well as I do that this is _entirely_ necessary,” Emhyr said.

He had to show that he was smitten with Morvran, genuinely taken in by whatever charms people had begun to imagine in him. However, Morvran was half-right--the gift need not have been thoughtful.

Emhyr had justified this to himself as entirely practical--Morvran would have no trouble appreciating something he actually _liked_ , and it was a simple thing to determine what that might be. People would see him with this horse, a horse his lover had gifted him and which he was obviously delighted by, and have no trouble at all imagining real affection between them.

***

Morvran rode him like a prize stallion on the cusp of winning something prestigious in Emhyr’s office, and Emhyr knew it was too much, that their relationship was spreading beyond the confines he had so carefully staked out in his mind, and he did not care enough to stop it.

***

“My father encouraged me to use my relationship with you to have the law he plans to champion in the senate passed,” Morvran said over his second glass of wine, taking his fingers away from the bishop he’d just finished moving.

Emhyr brushed his fingers over his single remaining knight, and then thought better of the move. He glanced up, suddenly much less interested in the game.

“And will you?” Emhyr said. “I must be due to do you a favour by now, certainly. And it should be something conspicuous.”

“No,” Morvran said, without pausing to consider the possibility.

The thrill of victory bloomed in the pit of Emhyr’s stomach.

“No?” he asked, eager to hear Morvran’s reasoning.

“No,” Morvran confirmed, watching Emhyr’s hand as he moved it over the pieces, taking his time to choose a next move. Morvran was a strong defensive player, rarely taking a risk or leaving himself open to attack. He simply waited Emhyr out, whittling down his options and punishing him dearly for any aggression.

But then when the time was _right_ , he struck hard and fast and offered no mercy, no escape.

He had the strategic mind of a man twenty years his senior. Indeed, his strategic brilliance would still have been rare at any age, at any level of experience.

A boy of nineteen. Emhyr would have laughed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

And he could yet be moulded. Trained into something greater, his instincts honed until his mind was flawless.

A tendril of desire curled around Emhyr’s belly. Yes. That… that was what he wanted from Morvran.

An heir.

“You may do me a favour, if you wish, but not for my father. Not if it’s still my loyalty you’re trying to court.”

Emhyr hummed. “You know, the way you say that makes me think I already have it,” he said. “I will not defy your wishes, of course.”

“As you’ve said.” Morvran took Emhyr’s knight, the one he had ultimately moved, in one elegant gesture. “You can offer me more than he ever could. And you are family.”

“I would like to make you one of my generals,” Emhyr said before he’d finished entirely thinking it through, the need to chase after the feeling of having _won_ overcoming his better judgement.

It was the right thing, though. Morvran would be well-suited to the role, and it would put him in a position of power that was practically if not technically greater than his father. This would make Morvran _his_.

“A very conspicuous favour indeed,” Morvran murmured, putting Emhyr in check in the same breath.

He was but three moves from victory, Emhyr suddenly realised.

“But appropriate,” Emhyr responded. “Do not accept immediately. Think on it, but remember what has happened to previous generals who’ve betrayed me.”

Morvran nodded, looking at the board.

“I concede,” he said, toppling his own king. “Come to bed.”

***

Morvran spoke for the first time as Emhyr thrust into his body, a litany of need and want and desire, punctuated by Emhyr’s name, which he went out of his way to avoid saying otherwise, and Emhyr could no longer tell whether he was being genuine or not, and he suddenly cared more than he knew he should have.

Emhyr gentled his touches, slowed himself down, watched Morvran’s face twist, his mouth fall open with silent cries, his body tense and shudder as Emhyr sought out all the sensitive places he had mapped and made use of them, one by one, driving him higher and higher and higher just so he could watch him fall, crash deep into pleasure as Emhyr came inside him. He kissed the cry from Morvran’s lips and swallowed it down to keep it for himself.

And two men of their respective stations did not _make love_ to one another, but Emhyr couldn’t help feeling they’d come damnably close to it.

***

“I accept,” Morvran murmured in the morning, stretching luxuriantly on the bed, pale skin dyed gold by the sunrise.

For just the barest moment, Emhyr struggled to draw breath.

  
  
  
  



End file.
